The right embrace
by Arianka
Summary: Playing in the palace gardens goes wrong and little Nolofinwe drags Indis for help. Also a glance at Fëanaro-Indis relations.
1. Chapter 1

Written for tiny Silmarillion Whump Bingo card Anduniel made me last year  
Prompt filled: tears of fear

* * *

Indis was in the garden, embroidering sleeves of her new dress, when she heard her son frantically calling for her and Finwe. She put away her work and stood up. "In here!"

"Amme!" sobbing, Nolofinwe ran to her and grasped her hand. "Help!" He pulled, urging his mother to follow him.

"What is it, Nolo?"

"It's 'Naro. We f-fell an he's n-not m-moooving!" Nolofinwe hiccupped and pulled. "Come quick!"

Indis hurried without hesitation. Something must have happened to cause her son being so distressed. She tried to question Nolofinwe while he dragged her through the palace gardens, but the boy was too upset. From what she grasped, it seemed that the boys had been playing and it had resulted in both of them slipping and falling down the stones creating an artificial waterfall, with Fëanáro landing under his brother and thus taking the full impact of the fall. He had sent his brother to find their father, but Finwe was nowhere around, so...

"Here!"

Fëanaro was no longer laying flat on the stones. He sat propped against a granite rock, his eyes wide and confused.

"Atto?" he called weakly as he heard them approaching. He didn't turn and Indis didn't like the way he sounded, shocked and at the verge of panicking, so she rushed to him, Nolofinwe at her heels.

"I couldn't find him, Naro," replied the younger boy miserably. "But Amme's here."

Indis knelt down beside Fëanáro. It was unlike him to sit so still with nothing to occupy his mind and hands. The way he kept his arm close to his chest meant nothing good, nor did the blood matting his hair at the left side of his head. "What happened, Fëanaro?" she asked and was rewarded with a more familiar glare, though it lacked the usual fierceness.

"Wanted Atar," he complained, his voice tensed and disappointed. He looked over her shoulder, as if expecting Finwe to come after her.

"It's alright, let me see." Indis reached out for his arm; the wrist looked either badly sprained or broken. "Tell me what's wrong," she prompted gently, ignoring the ever present reluctance in Fëanáro's eyes. It was nothing new and he was just a child, hurt and currently doing his best trying not to burst into tears.

"N-no!" By now the boy seemed desperate not to lose his remaining composure in front of her. "N-nothing. Where's Atto...?"

"Alright," Indis changed the approach. There was little point in trying to make Fëanáro cooperate with her and wasting their time sitting on the ground when he looked like he needed some help. "Come, I'll take you to Finwe." She reached out her arms and Fëanaro reluctantly allowed her to help him up. She carefully pulled him on his feet and steadied him as he swayed. He was shaking with effort, yet stubbornly tried to free himself from her grasp.

"Dizzy," he moaned quietly.

Indis held her arm firmly around his back. "I'll take you to Atto," she repeated calmly and picked him.

Fëanaro didn't object much nor did he make a sound. He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes as Indis carried him back home. By now he was a little too big to be comfortably held in arms, but trying to lead him back on his own would have probably been even more troublesome.

Before they reached the house, they saw Finwe leaving the garden doors in a hurry. He hastened his steps even more as he saw Indis carrying Fëanáro.

"What's wrong?! I felt him screaming," he asked worriedly and opened his arms to take his son. "Fëanáro?"

Indis was relieved when she passed Fëanáro to him. The boy had been so terribly tensed in her embrace, yet so quiet that she wondered if he had been fully awake. Now, however, as soon as he felt his father's arms around him, Fëanáro relaxed visibly. He clang to Finwe and started sobbing.

... And so did Nolofinwe again, terrified to see his older brother crying.

Indis knelt down while Finwe was trying to figure out the main reason of Fëanáro's distress. "It's alright, Nolo. Hush. You did well to come to me so swiftly, now Atto will make sure Fëanáro's okay."

The boy didn't look too convinced and tears were running down his cheeks, threatening to flood them all. Indis hugged him and stood up."It's alright, Nolofinwe," she promised as he buried his face in her neck. "It's not your fault."

"It is." Fëanáro mumbled towards Finwe's collar. He looked up. "I told him not to go this high!" The accusation in his voice made Nolofinwe cry even harder and the adults exchanged exasperated looks.

"We'll discuss it later," said Finwe firmly, cutting off the upcoming argument. "Right now I want a healer to have a look at you, Fëanáro," he turned, intending to get back inside, when he remembered something. "Oh, Indis, if you could please have someone send a word to Mahtan that Fëanáro won't be coming today."

"What?!" Fëanáro jerked in his father's arms. "Why? Master Mahtan promised me he would take me to his great workshops!" he objected, his voice breaking. "He promised!"

"I know. I'm sorry, you'll go another time."

"But I did nothing wrong!" Angry tears appeared in Fëanáro's eyes again; he was already past the point of caring that he was crying in front of Indis and Nolofinwe. He tried to wriggle himself out of his father's grasp and yelped, turning a bit green.

"No, you didn't," Finwe carefully ran his hand through his son's hair and winced at the half-dried blood. "But I don't think you will feel up to going anywhere today," he added softly.

"Sick," the boy admitted quietly in defeat and rested his head on his father's shoulder. He leaned to the touch, so Finwe continued caressing his hair, careful not to touch the bloodied lump forming above his ear.

"I know. Now, let's see what can be done about it."


	2. Chapter 2

I thought I was done with this tiny ficlet after I posted the first scene.. Silly me.

* * *

It took Indis some time to calm her son down so he could tell her in detail what had happened. Nolofinwe admitted that they had been playing by the waterfall and he had wanted to reach the top despite his brother's warnings. When he had climbed high enough to get scared, Fëanáro had followed him, but the rocks were slippery and as he had been helping Nolofinwe down, they had both fallen.

As some conclusions had to be drawn from the situation, Indis had a lengthy discussion with Nolofinwe about listening and obeying, though she knew that in many situations she could hardly blame the boy for going against his brother. Fëanáro could be trying at best and while he could achieve a lot with his father, it was simply impossible to bide to his will a child as small as Nolofinwe. Still, he was older and, like today, if he warned Nolofinwe not go somewhere, he probably did it for a reason.

Once she knew the healer had left, Indis led Nolofinwe to Fëanáro's rooms, both to reassure her son that his brother was going to be alright and to make sure that he apologised. Otherwise Nolofinwe would soon forget the matter and he would be then surprised by Fëanáro's hostility; the older boy could hold grudges for a really long time and they really didn't need any prolonged conflict.

Fëanaro was laying on the sofa, curled on his right side, with his head resting on his father's knees and a cool poultice above his ear. Finwe kept one hand on his head as he read a letter.

Indis smiled. They looked unusually peaceful and she was about to step back and keep Nolofinwe occupied elsewhere, but Fëanaro must have heard her, for his eyes snapped open. This was all the invitation Nolofinwe needed.

"Has Atto fixed you?" he asked hopefully and ran towards the coach. "Oh..." his face dropped as he saw cast and bandages covering his brother's wrist up to his elbow. "He didn't..."

"It's broken, stupid," Fëanaro puffed. "You can't just fix it, it needs time."

"Language, Curufinwe," Finwe reprimanded him calmly, his eyes still on the letter. "No, you were supposed to be lying," he reminded his son and moved his hand at the boy's shoulder as Fëanaro attempted to push himself up.

"I'm bored," the way the boy whined suggested it wasn't the first time he tried to sit, but his father's arm kept him in place.

"Can't play?" Nolofinwe asked and made a face. At Indis's prompting look, he shuffled his feet and added. "Sorry I didn't listen."

Fëanaro didn't answer. He closed his eyes and made a move like he wanted to turn around, before remembering that it wouldn't be too comfortable. Nolofinwe shifted his attention at his father.

"May we have a story then?" he asked, his grey eyes glinting with hope. "You didn't finish yesterday."

Indis muffled a chuckle. Of course Finwe finished it, only the boy had been fast asleep by then.

"I don't see why not," Finwe nodded and put down the letter.

Nolofinwe wanted to climb on his knees, but stopped as he realised there wasn't enough space for him. He reached out his tiny hand and prodded his brother. "Can you move?"

"No." Fëanaro snuggled deeper and winced. "Atto, I don't want..."

Finwe changed his mind at once. "We'll finish the story later, Nolo."

"But you said..." the boy tried not to sound too disappointed.

"Later, Nolofinwe. Indis, please take Nolo. I want Fëanaro to get some rest."

There was no point in trying to press the matter. It was only understandable that Fëanaro had given his father quite a fright and that Finwe wanted to make sure he was alright before his duties called him, so Indis picked her youngest and tossed him before placing him on her hip. "How about we find Findis and play something?" she offered and carried Nolofinwe away. She hoped the boy didn't hear Fëanaro asking Finwe for a song.


	3. Chapter 3

It felt so good to spend the entire day alone with Atar, even if he had to lay down. Finwe sang to him and told him stories as Fëanaro drifted in and out of sleep. His soft voice made the pounding in his head lessen and even the missed opportunity to see Mahtan's workshops no longer seemed so disastrous. It was strange, doing nothing for the whole day, but then - it was doing nothing with Atar. The memory of Finwe's hands caressing his head and gently detangling his hair after the healer had washed out the blood left him feeling warm and cosy, if a little drowsy from the numbing potion they had given him.

But Finwe had gone to some meeting he couldn't postpone and so Fëanaro was left alone in his room. His mind was still a bit foggy from the enforced idleness, but of one he was sure - any further sleeping was out of option. He was hungry though; earlier the weird heaviness in his stomach had made him reluctant to eat anything, but now it was gone.

Swinging his legs over the edge of his bed, Fëanaro sat up carefully. He was sore from the fall and his wrist was annoyingly tender under the bandages, but the world no longer spun whenever he moved, so he decided he could risk a quick trip to the kitchen to grasp a snack. He hid his hand in a sling Finwe had made him from a colourful scarf and left the room.

Walking downstairs proved more challenging than he had initially thought. After the first wave of dizziness that almost made him lose his footing, he was careful to hold to the railing and walk by the walls. Perhaps it wasn't the brightest idea he'd ever had, but the alternative was to call and hope someone, Indis probably, would hear him, or to wait till someone came to him. And he was _hungry._

He made it slowly to the kitchen. At this hour there was no one there, but there was always plenty of food one could just grasp in between the meals. It also meant no one would help him, but luckily there was a whole plate of cake already cut into pieces. Feanaro grasped a slice of cheesecake and wolfed it down in a way that would never pass, had he been sitting by the table.

Spotting a pitcher with his favourite juice, he poured himself a glass and drank at once, then refilled it. He found a narrow plate and picked two other pieces of cake, intending to go back to his room. All the movement increased the pounding in his head and he really didn't like the way the world spun. The problem was that carrying both a plate and a glass required two free hands and that was currently impossible. He could try to put the glass on the plate, but then it would probably be difficult to balance if he felt dizzy again.

The sling provided him with a solution. Feanaro could not hold anything with his broken hand, but he could hold something _on_ it. The plate was narrow and fit quite well between the sides of the sling, the fabric preventing it from slipping. That left only the glass to carry and that was something Feanaro could manage. Glad that the problem was solved, the boy headed back to his room.

It proved to be only a partly good idea. The sling allowed him to carry everything, but the plate was too heavy and his wrist started to hurt. Fëanaro gritted his teeth and tried to quicken his steps, but the pain intensified. The unpleasant sensation along with the motion made the vision swim before his eyes. The boy stopped, panting, and leaned against the wall.

To take the plate from his wrist, he would have to put down the glass he was holding. Dizzy as he felt, he didn't think he could bend down and put the glass on the floor without falling, and the nearest windowsill was too far.

Back pressed hard against the wall, Fëanaro let out a small whimper. He had to remove the pressure n-now-

* * *

It was supposed to be third and last part, but it has grown too big and wouldn't look good with the fist two, so I decided to divide it in two.

The rest will be tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4

A sudden sound coming from the corridor made Indis look up from the board of the game she was playing with the children.

"A moment," she said and went out. Finwe had asked her to check up on Fëanaro now and then to make sure he was resting and what she heard sounded very much like a child. Even if it wasn't him, she could as well go to his room.

She wasn't really surprised to see Fëanaro. The boy was leaning against the wall, eyes squeezed shut and expression pained. He was shaking, clearly more distressed than he wanted to show.

"Fëanaro? What are you doing here?" sensing upcoming disaster, Indis got to him at once and took the glass before he dropped it.

The moment he had a free hand, Fëanaro opened his eyes reached into the sling. Indis leaned to help him and spotted a narrow plate with two pieces of cake placed on the broken hand. The scarf protected it from falling, but as Fëanaro fumbled desperately, the cake threatened to make its way to the freedom. He grasped the feral plate and tried to detangle it, so Indis held one side of the sling to widen the space. As soon as the plate was out, Fëanaro let out a sigh of relief.

"What exactly are you doing?" Indis repeated sternly. "You were not supposed to get up."

"Not your concern," came an instant reply. "You're not my mother."

Indis sighed inwardly. These words were for Fëanaro like a spell he used to strengthen the wall he kept building between them. Whenever he wanted to defy her and oppose her openly, sooner or later these words would come, either shouted or spat out. Now, however, they lacked... anything really. Fëanaro was standing before her barefoot, wearing only a loose tunic and a pair of soft trousers. He really must have sneaked out just for a moment, for she rarely saw him this tussled.

"I'm not," she agreed and placed her hand at the boy's good arm. "But your father asked me to keep an eye on you and make sure you are alright while he's gone. I hope you are feeling better?" Being distant and properly polite usually worked better than showing affection, to which Fëanaro reacted badly, immediately jumping to an assumption that she was trying to take Miriel's place.

Fëanaro glanced up from under the curtain of his black hair hanging freely. His fingers clenched on the plate as if he expected Indis to take it away. "A bit," he answered like he would to anyone of Finwe's court, and his expression smoothened. "I was hungry."

"Then why don't you sit with us and eat?" Indis pointed at the sitting room. "Do you want anything else?"

"No, just my cake," Fëanaro moved slowly and walked along the wall up to the doors. Indis followed him close in case he lost balance, but he seemed to be doing fine.

The room spacious. In front of the door, there was a table they used for meals they had in private, while the part on the right side was meant for entertainment. Findis and Nolofinwe laid sprawled on a thick carpet, playing a board game, purposely ignoring sofas and armchairs. Indis led Fëanaro to the table, but as soon as she returned, Findis dragged her back to the board, reminding her that it was her turn and that they had been waiting for her.

Once the game was over, Indis glanced at Fëanaro. The boy had eaten his cake and was now sitting idly, moving the glass with the rest of the juice back and forth on the table. Indis was again struck by how quiet he was. Normally he would have been bored out of his mind if he had been told to sit with absolutely nothing to do; now he just seemed disheartened.

"Fëanaro," she called and he jerked.

"Yes?" he blinked and the glass stopped its journey on the table.

"I think you should lie down," Indis suggested and didn't miss the way the boy stiffened. "Hey, I'm not sending you away to your room," she clarified gently. "I just thought you'd be more comfortable here," she pointed at the sofa.

Fëanaro nodded hesitantly, but made no move, just stared grimly at his juice. The one look he cast towards where Indis and his siblings were suggested that he would gladly listen to her, but...

Oh. So moving was the problem. Knowing that Fëanaro would not ask her for help unless he really had no other option, Indis rose and came over to the table. She took the boy's glass and refilled it from the crystal pitcher. "I'll take it for you," she offered and put the other hand around his slender frame. "Come."

With her to make sure he would not fall, Fëanaro stood up and slowly made his way to the coach. He seemed wobbly, but said no word of complain. He just sank down on the sofa and didn't really object when Indis offered him a glass of juice mixed with the potion Finwe had asked her to give him.

"Thank you," he muttered quietly and Indis smiled. Time spent alone with his father was paying off.

At first Fëanaro sat stiffly, as he would do at official dinners that were way too long to his liking, but slowly he relaxed. He slumped down and after claiming one of the richly embroidered pillows, he curled around it, settling for observing the game Findis and Nolofinwe were starting again. Before Indis knew it, he was fast asleep. She waited until her children finished playing and shushed them both to beds.

Once Findis and Nolofinwe settled for sleep, Indis returned to the sitting room and picked her long abandoned embroidery. Fëanaro had not even stirred and there was little point in moving him, so she just tossed a blanket on him and resumed her work.

This was how Finwe found them. "Oh." he looked pleasantly surprised when he saw his son sleeping on the sofa and Indis beside him. "Did you manage to lure him out?"

"No, he ventured for some food," Indis smiled and shook her head, "and I lured him in. He wanted to wait for you, but..." she gestured at the sleeping child. "I think he's as fine as can be expected."

"Good. Still, I think I'll keep an eye on him, just in case." Finwe leaned over the sofa and picked his son along with the blanket. "Thank you."

* * *

Ok, that would be it. This ficlet has grown bigger than I initially thought, but now it's over. Thank you for reading.


End file.
